


Impressions

by AliceLiddle



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: (what a surprise - another soulmate au from me), Canon Divergent, M/M, Soulmate AU, Watford Eighth Year, soulmate-identifying feelings? tastes? smells?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 01:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30132138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceLiddle/pseuds/AliceLiddle
Summary: On your eighteenth birthday (or your first birthday after your soulmate turns eighteen, if you’re older than them) every mage gets an impression of their soulmate – sometimes it’s a taste in their mouth of their soulmate’s favorite food, sometimes it’s a smell of their favorite flowers or perfume, sometimes it’s the notes of their favorite song playing in your head. Apparently, it can help guide you to them, and everyone does eventually meet their soulmate no matter what. Even if you’re not sure if the person you’re dating is your soulmate, you’re supposed to be unshakably sure of it from the first time you kiss after you’ve both received your impressions.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 160





	Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I found this fic printed out and mostly finished in my work basket with zero memory of actually writing it. So, here's another soulmate au!
> 
> This is a fairly canon divergent au; not only are there soulmates, but the Humdrum isn't mentioned as a threat, there are no Visitings, and although this fic takes place over eighth year that Christmas is unremarkable. Also, the birthdays have been changed, but they're fake in canon too, so that doesn't count 😄 (In this case, Baz is the oldest, then Simon, Agatha, and finally Penny)
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to [annabellelux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux), who is an incredible beta and a wonderful friend 🖤🖤🖤 If you find yourself thinking that Baz is just the right amount of mean, or that the opening line is really good, or that the punctuation makes sense, please thank her (and also go read her fics, because they're amazing!!)

**Simon**

Magic isn’t real to me over the summer.

That’s what I tell myself so that I won’t be disappointed if Watford turns out to have only been a dream (or a prolonged hallucination) by the end of August. Things are different on the solstice though. A few times now, on the twenty-first of June, the Mage would show up and take me on an adventure, saying that it was an auspicious day and there was work to be done, and magic would be real for just one day in the middle of monotony and summer.

The Mage stopped coming after fifth year. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he didn’t show up, but it hurt even more than I thought it would not to have some reminder of Watford on the holiday. (I don’t think I would have ever even cared about the holiday if he hadn’t shown up in the first place; I only celebrate the other ones when I’m around mages anyway.) Though, ever since then, I can’t help but hope. On June 21st, I wake up early, I put on something that I’ve saved from Watford, and I take whatever pocket money I have and buy the first thing I find that looks like something Cook Prichard would make. It’s not the sort of celebration Agatha’s family has, and I’m sure Baz’s family has some dark, posh, glamorous party at their mansion, but it’s something to look forward to. It’s something that makes the day special. Besides, I don’t know when my birthday is, but it’s probably sometime close to the solstice, so it’s nice to have something to celebrate around then.

When I woke up this morning, I pulled out a plain white t-shirt that I’d kept in the bottom of my duffle for the last month. It’s nothing fancy, but it was part of my Watford uniform allotment last year, and one of the only pieces of clothing that made it through the year without getting torn or bloodied beyond recognition (definitely _not_ the one I was wearing when the Humdrum grabbed me and Penny). It’s still clean, and fresh, and when I tug it on over my head I catch a whiff of cedar and bergamot – Baz. His posh soap is unmistakable, but it doesn’t usually permeate my clothes, just the room after he’s showered. Usually I would be furious to be reminded of Baz, for him to intrude on the little time that I have away from him, but today the familiar scent doesn’t bother me. Instead, it’s just another part of Watford, something else familiar from the only place I’ve ever really called home.

I lift my shirt up to my nose again, inhaling to fill my senses with just a bit more of the magical world in the form of my roommate’s shampoo, but it already seems to be gone, fading back into the smell of detergent and the care home around me.

When I get back to school, I’m greeted by a whirlwind in human form.

“Simon!" Penelope’s eyes are scanning me, clearly checking for any signs of battles she missed out on, or news she hasn’t yet heard. "How was your summer? Are you alright?”

“Hi, Penny. Summer was fine, I’m alright.” I bump my shoulder into hers. “I’m glad to be back though. Missed you.”

She grins.

“I missed you too. Mum and Dad were so paranoid all summer, they hardly let me leave the house, and they spent the whole time raving about the Mage. I’m glad to be away from that.”

“Right, and back to the place where you get attacked by dark creatures and snatched away across the water, that makes sense.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean! Anyway, we’re not being attacked _now_. Tell me about your summer. Did you get your impression?”

One of the things I’ve found the most surprising about the World of Mages is the existence of soulmates. On your eighteenth birthday (or your first birthday after your soulmate turns eighteen, if you’re older than them) every mage gets an impression of their soulmate – sometimes it’s a taste in their mouth of their soulmate’s favorite food, sometimes it’s a smell of their favorite flowers or perfume, sometimes it’s the notes of their favorite song playing in your head. Apparently, it can help guide you to them, and everyone does eventually meet their soulmate no matter what. Even if you’re not sure if the person you’re dating is your soulmate, you’re supposed to be unshakably sure of it from the first time you kiss after you’ve both received your impressions.

I don’t really know what to make of all of it honestly, especially because I’m not convinced that I’ll live past eighteen. Sure, I’m going to carry on like I have an endgame, but if I don’t survive this year then I feel bad for whoever ends up with me as their soulmate. Or maybe I don’t have a soulmate, if I’ll die before I meet them.

“I dunno. I don’t think so.”

Penny looks distraught.

“You don’t think so? Simon, everyone gets an impression, are you sure you don’t remember anything? Your birthday is over the summer, right?”

“Yeah, sometime around the middle of June, but Pen, I didn’t notice anything. I don’t think I have one.”

“Simon,” she puts her hand on my arm, and gives me such an earnest look I want to be more invested in this for her sake, “I know you have a soulmate, you’ll get an impression. Even if you don’t remember though, it’s okay. You’ll meet them, and then you’ll know.”

She doesn’t say anything about Agatha. I haven’t really thought about Agatha much since I saw her in the Wavering Wood with Baz at the end of last term, and I definitely didn’t think about her when I was celebrating what passes as my birthday. Maybe I should have.

“Thanks, Pen.”

A month later, Agatha turns eighteen, kisses me the next day, and then breaks up with me.

I should probably be surprised, or upset, or maybe even insulted, but instead I just kind of feel relieved. She’s not my soulmate.

She draws back from the kiss and I know immediately what she’s going to say.

“I’m sorry, Simon. It’s not you.”

“Yeah. It’s not you either. Sorry, Ags.”

She gives me a slight smile. I know we’re not supposed to ask, that it’s bad manners to ask directly about someone else’s impression, but I can’t help myself.

“What was yours?”

Her face clears entirely, and she looks as lovely as I’ve ever seen her. There’s a twinge of guilt in my stomach as I realise that she doesn’t usually look this happy around me, and I feel worse when she answers.

“I felt… happy. But properly, truly, _happy_ , like I never have before. Like sitting in the sun on the beach. I just didn’t have any worries or anything to focus on other than being happy. And I love you, Simon, but we both know that being your girlfriend means I’d never get to have that sort of peace.”

I know that, but it still hurts to hear.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Ags.”

She pushes a butter-blonde strand of hair behind her ear and gives me another soft smile.

“Friends?”

I tug her into a hug. “Yeah, of course. Friends.”

At least being that calm and happy means that Baz isn’t her soulmate, no one could ever feel that way around him.

When Penelope turns 18, she receives her impression in the middle of class. Out of nowhere, a swirl of wind picks up that only targets her, spinning her hair up towards the ceiling and scattering her papers through the Magic Words classroom. She’s blushing the slightest bit while she collects her things and the rest of the class tries to politely ignore what just happened, but I’m happy for her. She wouldn’t do well without a bit of adventure in her life, and it looks like her soulmate will be able to provide it if the tornado that just encompassed her is any indication.

All year I’ve been watching students get their impressions. Most aren’t quite as obvious as Penny’s was, but usually it’s easy to tell when each person finds out something important about their soulmate. They sit up suddenly, or start grinning like crazy, or sometimes even make little noises of surprise, and everyone around them kind of gives awkward smiles and congratulations.

Niall apparently got his impression when he spat out his tea one day, receiving a truly terrifying glare from Baz when the spray hit his blazer. I could hear Niall mumbling apologies, and then something I couldn’t make out, but Baz actually smiled at him, so I’m assuming Niall was pleased with whatever he learned. It was weird to see Baz smile though, all of his angles softened the tiniest bit, and he looked like the sort of person you’d want to walk up and just start talking to on the street. So fucking weird.

The week after Valentine’s Day, Penny looks like she might be considering hexing me.

“But, Penny, I’m sure of it this time! He’s plotting something!”

She’s going to hurt herself someday, rolling her eyes like that. And I don’t trust myself enough to spell them healed if she does.

“Simon. You’ve been saying the same thing for eight years. What exactly do you think that Baz could possibly be plotting while eating breakfast?”

“I don’t know, but I know he’s up to something! Look at him, he’s not even eating!”

Penny hardly acknowledges the untouched toast on Baz’s plate. It’s plain, not buttered or anything, so I know he only got it for show.

“Maybe he has an eating disorder, Simon, and if he does then you shouldn’t try to embarrass him with it.”

“Why would he have an eating disorder? He’s the fittest bloke in the whole school.” Penny’s grip on her fork tightens just as I say, “It’s probably proof he’s a vampire.”

“Not this again!”

“Penny, _I live with a dark creature!_ You can’t expect me to just let that go!”

“It’s been eight years and he still hasn’t killed you in your sleep, I highly doubt he’s going to do it tonight. Besides, he wouldn’t want to get expelled this close to graduation.”

I huff. She’s right, Baz cares about education too much to risk expulsion with only a few months left in our Watford careers, but I still think I’m right to be concerned.

“What about what he was doing with Agatha in the Wood at the end of last year?”

“I thought you didn’t care about that anymore! Honestly, Si, I love you, but you’ve exceeded your Baz quota for the rest of the week already and it’s not even nine in the morning! Just focus on something else for a minute, alright?”

“Fine, Pen, I’m sorry, but—” Across the room, Baz’s face suddenly contorts and he slaps a hand over his mouth. Without saying a word to his friends he gets up and races out of the dining hall. “I have to go!”

Penny makes a grab for the back of my sweater, but I’m already out of her reach.

“Leave Baz alone, Simon! Just come back and finish breakfast!”

As much as I hate to leave behind perfectly good food, I need to know what Baz is up to.

When I finally catch up to him, he’s outside in the courtyard, leaning against a pillar and folded almost in half, clearly trying to hide in the shadows. He’s evil, I know he is, he wants to kill me and he’s part of the Old Families so I can’t trust him, but, at the same time, he doesn’t look very fearsome right now. He looks upset.

As I get closer I can hear his breath coming out in little gasps, and I think he may be trying not to cry. His eyes are shut tightly, worry lines creasing his forehead, and he looks like he’s about to be sick. His hands are still pressed over his mouth, and his hair is falling around his face, having become disheveled in the two minutes since he ran out from breakfast.

He’s almost certainly a vampire, and evil, and he definitely hates me, but… he doesn’t look like my enemy right now.

“Baz?”

He startles violently at the sound of my voice, his panic must have drowned out the sound of my footsteps (or the smell of my blood).

“Go away, Snow.” His voice is muffled and he’s turned away from me, but he’s not running.

“Are you okay?”

He still doesn’t turn around.

“Bloody brilliant, now piss off.”

I take a few more steps, and I can see every muscle in his back tense.

“Baz, what’s wrong?”

He turns to glare at me, his mouth still covered.

“Nothing that you need to worry about. Go away.”

I square up to him and prepare to dig in. I probably shouldn’t pick a fight with him when he’s this distraught, but it’s the only way I know how to pull a reaction out of him.

“No. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on. Why are you freaking out?”

“I’m not _freaking out_ ,” he hisses, and his voice sounds even thinner than it was just a moment before. He’s definitely panicking.

“Alright, fine. You’re acting totally normal and you usually run out of breakfast to hyperventilate. _Sure._ ”

I think he’s sneering behind the hand covering his mouth.

“Tell me why you’re acting like this. What are you planning? Did something go wrong? Did one of your plots fail? Or are you just finally realising that I’m going to fight back when you’re told to kill me?”

Usually this line of questioning would result in some sort of answer, even if it was only a sarcastic jab. Now, though, Baz just crumples. His eyes are closed again, his shoulders sag, and I hear the sob that he tries to suppress.

“Just _go away,_ Simon, please.”

He’s not okay.

“No, Baz, I’m not leaving you while you’re like this. At the very least let’s go back to the room. Breakfast is going to be over soon and I know you don’t want other people to see you like this.” When he doesn’t react I reach out to tug on his elbow. “Come on, you’re more disheveled than I am.” He laughs wetly, bitterly, and yanks his elbow out of my reach but follows me back to Mummers House.

At the top of the stairs, we both pause before entering our room. We’ve lived together for seven and a half years, but we don’t often enter the room together. We don’t do things together at all, but Baz is clearly having some sort of breakdown and probably shouldn’t be left alone right now. After a moment he just walks in front of me and throws himself onto his bed, curling up and facing the wall.

I should probably give him some space, not push this temporary moment of ceasefire any further than we’ve already stretched it, but I don’t think I can. I can’t just walk away, because this is _Baz_ , my sworn enemy and the most talented mage I know, and he’s crying on his bed in a way he’s never done. (The way I used to when I was a first year.)

I sit down behind him.

He tenses even more than he did the first time I approached him.

“Baz?”

No response.

I touch his shoulder, trying to be gentle. I don’t know how to touch him if I’m not landing a punch, but I want to give him some form of comfort, and this is the only thing I can think to do. When he doesn’t move away I start rubbing my hand over his arm, trying to calm him, and then, once I realise how cold he is even through his sweater, trying to warm him.

At some point, I’m not sure when, I start murmuring. “It’s okay, you’re alright, it’s okay, you’re going to be fine, I’m here, it’s okay.” I don’t even know what I’m saying, and I don’t think it makes sense, but he’s starting to relax little by little, panting gasps evening out into shaky breaths.

After a few more minutes his body tenses up, as if he’s finally remembering that it’s me giving him this meager comfort. He sits up, throwing my hand off of his arm, and does his best to stare me down. The puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks don’t really help him look fierce though. He just looks sad, and scared, and vulnerable.

“Stop gawking, Snow,” he chokes out, “And stop groping me. I’m alright now.”

He’s clearly not. Baz has never looked like this before, and I’m not leaving him alone until he seems like he’s back to normal.

I ignore his comments and try to get some answers.

“Baz, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Snow. Thank you for ensuring I was alright,” he says with a biting sarcasm. “Now leave me alone.”

I think he might start crying again if I leave.

“No, Baz, you’re clearly not alright. What’s wrong?” I’ll just keep asking him until he tells me.

He’s drawn into himself, arms wrapped around his middle, and I think he’s sucking on his fangs… his _fangs_.

“Baz, did you get your impression? Is that what happened?”

He turns his face away from me, and I know that I’m right.

“Who is it? Can you tell yet? Did you taste their favorite food?"

“Crowley, Snow, fuck off.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Do you know who your soulmate is, Baz? I can try and help you find them, if you don’t know who it is.” I’m just babbling at this point, and I don’t know why I’m volunteering to help Baz find his soulmate, but the words come out of my mouth and I know I will. I _want_ to help him, even if my stomach is twisting at the thought. Baz shouldn’t ever look this upset, and I’d do anything to help him right now.

He’s completely silent and still for a moment, but then he sighs and nods his head the slightest bit.

“Yes. I know who my soulmate is.”

Okay.

“And is that why you’re upset? Are they someone awful?”

He gives a wet sniffle, and turns around again so that I can see him roll his eyes at me.

“They’re not awful. They’re my _soulmate_ ; they’re wonderful.”

“So why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, not now, but you were five minutes ago. Why are you so upset about your soulmate?”

If Baz was even a little bit more composed I know he wouldn’t tolerate my line of questioning, let alone consider answering any of them, but he just had a breakdown practically in my arms, and he seems to have just given up. (It might be the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. Baz shouldn’t be like this.)

“They don’t like me. I don’t think it’s mutual.”

I don’t think that unrequited soulmates exist. I’ve certainly never heard anyone talk about them, but I’m not going to point that out to Baz without being sure.

“No, Baz, c’mon; that can’t be right. They’re your _soulmate_ , of course they’ll like you. And yeah, I mean, you can be a bit of a prick sometimes, but you’re the fittest bloke in our year, probably in the whole school, and you’re top of the class and just as smart as Penny, and you’re a star footballer, and I know you love your family, I’ve seen you with your siblings before break, and—"

Baz cuts off my rambling in the most effective way possible.

He _kisses_ me.

And, oh.

_Oh._

All of a sudden I feel like everything makes sense, like every loose part has fallen into place and I finally understand the way the world works.

I smelled cedar and bergamot, I smelled _Baz_ this summer, and that was my impression. _He_ was my impression. He’s my _soulmate_.

I kiss him back just as fiercely. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. I don’t think he’s ever kissed anyone else before, but that’s okay, because I can keep kissing him until he’s an expert, and then we can keep kissing after that too. (Plus, I kind of like being better than Baz at something.) We kiss until we have to part for breath, and as soon as I fill my lungs up with oxygen again I move back towards Baz. His fangs have retracted, they did a while ago, but I think I’d keep kissing him even if they hadn’t.

He’s backing away though, and I don’t know why. He looks horrified.

“Baz?” I don’t know what I’m asking.

He doesn’t respond. His eyes are wide.

“Baz? You’re my—I mean, uh, it’s you. And we’re…” I trail off, because Baz looks like he’s contemplating making a run for it, and I don’t want to scare him away by saying ‘soulmate’.

He’s so still I think he might be in shock. After an uncomfortably long pause, he finally speaks.

“Obviously, we can forget this ever happened. I don’t expect anything of you, and I won’t hold you to any obligation just because we’re… soulmates.”

He’s working hard to keep his face blank, and I hate it even more than usual. I used to think that I hated his cool indifference, but now I think that maybe I just hate being locked out, not knowing what he’s thinking or feeling. I’m starting to suspect that this may have something to do with my need to follow Baz around, to always know where he is and what he’s doing. Maybe it wasn’t just the threat of a vampire in the school that I found so compelling. Maybe it’s just been Baz all along.

He’s holding himself too still, waiting for my response, but my brain is trying to parse too many things at once.

Baz’s family hates me, and he might hate me too, and he definitely hates the Mage, but I don’t actually hate him. I don’t want to kill him, and if today has proven anything I think it actually shows that my instinct might be to protect him. I think I want to be his friend. My stomach has been sloshing with warm feelings ever since I caught up with him outside, and I’m just now realising that it's _affection_. I want to talk with him, and befriend him, and maybe go back to kissing him some more too.

It’s the polar opposite of everything I thought I knew and felt this morning, but it finally seems like something that might be _right_.

“I don’t want to forget.”

Baz’s eyebrow arches up toward his hairline, but I can see the vulnerability flash across his eyes.

“I want to be your soulmate. I know we haven’t gotten on well, um, ever, but I’d like to try. I don’t want to kill you,” I add, and Baz’s face is now clearly reflecting the same shock that I’m feeling at all of these revelations. “I want to like you.”

“You want to like me?” He’s sneering, and I would think it was a cruel expression if I couldn’t hear the tremor in his voice. “What does that even mean?”

“I want us to give this a chance. Let’s stop being gits and see if we can actually be friends. Or, boyfriends, maybe,” I say, trailing off into a mumbled, “I liked kissing you,” and a shrug.

Baz’s eyes are now bulging out of his head, and it would be unattractive if he wasn’t so ridiculously fit that everything he does looks good. (Maybe I should have realised a few things before this morning.)

“I tasted your blood this morning, and all I can think about is taking more of it,” he spits, “And now you want to be friends? Or boyfriends?” His voice drops a few decibels on the last word.

“I want to be your soulmate!” I have no clue what that actually means for us, but Baz clearly needs something, so I try to find my words and keep talking. “I want to be your friend, because soulmates are supposed to get along and I think that we could if we stopped sniping at each other. I want to eventually be your boyfriend, because I liked kissing you and I think I might like you even more—once you stop being a stubborn prat for a minute. I’m not a very good boyfriend, but I would try to be good at it, for you. And then, I dunno, we’ll just do whatever comes next too, but we’ll do it together.” I pause for breath, and Baz is still motionless. He’s like a wound rubber band, and I’m so worried that he’s going to flee. “I don’t care about the blood thing. Or the vampire thing. We can figure it out. Just—we’re soulmates, and that’s how I want us to be. Together. Whatever that means.”

Baz is still for one second, two, three, and then a tentative smile creeps onto his face.

“Do you truly mean that? You’re not upset, to be stuck with me for the rest of your life?”

“Crowley, _no!_ Nicks and Slick, Baz, you’re supposed to be the clever one here. Of course I’m not upset! I could do a lot worse than you, I mean, have you seen yourself?”

He lets slip a snorty little laugh, and then I start laughing too.

“I want to be your soulmate, Baz,” I say, once we’ve both calmed down again. “Can we have this?”

He looks back at me, and his deep-water eyes look so earnest.

“You’re mental.” Then he smiles a bit more. “But alright. We can have this.”

And he looks so peacefully happy that I have to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](https://waywardfangirl.tumblr.com/)


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